Muggles & Mortgages
by Kyonomiko
Summary: "In a world run by greed and built by deadly machines, muggles find their way through the trials of their daily lives with only their wits to guide them. Join the adventure and discover the muggle world like you've never known it. Welcome to Muggles and Mortgages." Dramione EWE. M mostly for language
1. Tutorial

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Potter related. Except books. And movies. And some fanart. And, you know, a bunch of word documents full of fanfiction...** **OK, so I own some Potter _related_ things, but not the stuff that makes you money. **

**Thanks ahead**

 **LightofEvolution for the usual: Cheerleading, commas, 'hey that word is fucked up'...all that. I don't know how I ever did this without you.**

 **In Dreams for creating an aesthetic at the drop of a hat and being super positive and making me do word sprints!**

 **Serena for lovely encouragement to go forward with this fluffly short story.**

 **And super quick shout out to Olivieblake who coined "cunnilatio" as a word and I now use it more often than is probably necessary.**

* * *

"Alright, Ladies..." Draco Malfoy rubs his hands together in anticipatory excitement.

"I object to that term." The table looks sideways at Theo Nott, leaned back in his chair and scowling at their Mortgage Master.

"I object to you objecting, Nott. In fact, I object to 'Ladies' being used as derogatory humour. If Draco said 'boys' and tossed me in with the lot of you, no one would say a word." Pansy Parkinson crosses her arms and levels Theo with a glare.

Draco takes in his bevy of snakes and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Already?" he laments. "We haven't even started yet. Are we going to debate the patriarchy all night?"

"No," Pansy pouts. "I want to make it to the 'Shopper's Mall' before we all die."

Draco nods and moves the group along. "Very well then. Blaise, care to give us a recount before we begin?"

Blaise sits up and assumes his role, taking his label as the 'secretary' of the group very seriously. He adjusts the lens-less glasses on the bridge of his nose that he insists on wearing for effect and reads from his last session notes. "Teddy managed to secure a ' _vehicle_ '," he uses his fingers to draw quotes in the air around the words unfamiliar to the crew of purebloods, "with the ' _dollars_ ' he acquired from his position at answering ' _tellyphone calls_ '-"

"It's _telephone_ ," Pansy says and then grumbles, "every _fucking_ week..."

Blaise raises his brow at her and annunciates sarcastically, "tell-uh-fone." He looks at Draco then, hooking his thumb over at the only witch in their midst. "Did you deny her cunnilatio this week or something?"

The blond snorts in return. "I've been denying her everything for two years, Blaise." He waves his hand in a shooing motion at his friend. "Go on then."

"Right...Where was I?... So Teddy has the 'vehicle', I'm waiting in the park for his arrival-"

"What kind of park?" Draco asks, both curious and reminding the group to be detailed. "Car park? Zoological park?"

"No, no... The mundane type. Grass and trees and tables outside. Public."

Pansy wrinkles her nose at the concept of outdoor dining but manages not to comment. Instead, she asks haughtily, "Where am I again?"

Blaise's eyes flit down the parchment in his hands before he finds his place and reminds her, "The 'coffee shoppe'. You just bought us 'latte' and scones."

She nods and makes a note at the top of a clean parchment in front of her.

He goes on, "Drake and Teddy are together in the 'car'. So now," he looks at Nott and Draco, "you two need to fetch me from the park, and then we need to get Pansy."

Draco cracks his knuckles and leans forward. "Shall we begin?" The other three watch as he tosses dice down on the table, rolling over the parchments that hold all the important information they need.

* * *

The Players:

 **Name: Drake Jones**

Occupation: Financial Advisor

Level: 7

Charisma: 3

Health: 1 (-1 penalty to roll for occupational 'stress')

Dexterity: 1

Tech: 3 (+1 to roll for education level in addition to +3 bonus)

Subterfuge: 3

Education Level: University (+3 to check roll)

Current wealth: $112,692

 **Name: Violet Park**

Occupation: Widow

Level: 7

Charisma: 4 (-5 when rolling against certain NPC)

Health: 3

Dexterity: 0 (+1 to roll due to "palates" bonus)

Tech: 0 (-1 penalty to roll for education level)

Subterfuge: 3

Education Level: High School (0 to check roll)

Current wealth: $304,817

 **Name: Blair Bini**

Occupation: Secretary

Level: 7

Charisma: 3

Health: 1

Dexterity: 1

Tech: 4 (+1 occupation bonus)

Subterfuge: 1

Education Level: Technical College (+1 bonus to check roll)

Current wealth: $43,349

 **Name: Teddy Smith**

Occupation: Dispatcher

Level: 7

Charisma: 1

Health: 2

Dexterity: 1

Tech: 5

Subterfuge: 1

Education Level: Technical College (+1 bonus to check roll)

Current Wealth: $5,064

Setting: Detroit, Michigan, United States

Individual starting locations: Prestige Toyota, Starbucks, and Central Park

* * *

 _Teddy sets his new car's gear into reverse and begins to back the vehicle from the lot. Drake occupies the seat to his left-_

"The right."

Blaise groans. "Oh, my dear Merlin, Draco! Could you just let us get on with it?"

Draco purses his lips and explains, "It's a yank game, Blaise. They sit on the wrong side over there. Different from the Night Bus. And anyway, Theo, you need to make a Tech check to be sure you know how to operate it."

Theo waves his hand around, brushing off the whole exchange, then rolls his die. "Thirteen. Plus my Tech of 5, I'm well within the required 9. Can we get started, then?"

Draco, their MM, nods, and they start in earnest.

 _Drake and Teddy only have a short distance to travel before they reach their friend Blair, navigating traffic easily with Teddy's Tech skills. They find Violet at the bakery, avoiding a Parking Check by utilizing Drake's subterfuge to find a back alley entrance._

 _It's touch and go when Violet misses a dexterity check, and a scone is lost to the ground, but, having purchased extra, the group of four are able to nourish their bodies with breakfast, adding a temporary +1 to health, and arrive at their destination: The Shopping Mall._

 _"I'll meet you fools at the entrance in an hour. I'm going to buy an "Armani gown" that gives me a bonus to Charisma."_

 _"Those are expensive," offers her friend Teddy with a frown of disapproval. 'Friend' being a generous word for 'the guy that hangs around her ex-boyfriend', but it's just easy to use a common label._

"Fuck off, Parkinson." Pansy resolutely ignores Theo and continues.

 _"Pfft. I think I'm alright, Teddy, with my massive wealth total. I hope you enjoy the car you just blew your savings on."_

 _"This car got us to the Shoppers Mall, you know."_

 _She laughs as she prepares to leave the group to their own devices. "Whatever. I could have just called a Taximeter Cab."_

" _You'll run out of wealth, you know, if you're not careful," Blair warns. "You started with the highest total, but you're not sustaining like we are. Widow is the weakest occupation." She chooses to ignore that bit of wisdom and looks at Drake expectantly for direction._

 _"The Armani boutique is on the second floor," Drake warns her. There's a freight elevator, but you have to make it past Shopping Mall Security. Your other choice is "Escalating", but that's a roll check."_

 _"Is it tech?" she asks with a grimace._

 _"No, tech doesn't work that way. It's dex though."_

 _"Oh," she breathes in relief, "that's not so bad. I have that palate bonus."_

 _"Or," Teddy points out, "you might be able to use Charisma past the guard." He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively at her._

 _"Can she?" Drake asks, seeming to ponder but also to know a secret. "What do you know about the Guard, Teddy? What if it's a woman? Her Charisma has a -5 penalty with hetero females."_

 _Violet eyes him before working out what seems to be a helpful hint, "I think maybe I'll take the Escalation._

 _They all nod, her part of the round at an end._

" _How do you suppose it works? Escalating…"_

Draco looks at Theo, lounging so far back in his chair, it's a wonder he doesn't topple over. "Is that your character asking?"

"What? Oh, no. No, I'm just wondering."

"Maybe a sort of _Leviosa_ that runs on their electrical?" Pansy is studying her nails, pretending not to be bothered, but obviously putting some thought into the concept.

"Is there a picture? In the guide?" Blaise leans over the table, trying to get a better look at Draco's MM set up. Their leader is very private about what goes on behind the screen propped on the table that hides his information. A lot of planning goes into these sessions, and he's not about to have the plots, challenges, and mysteries ruined by his nosy companion.

"No," he says, swatting at Zabini's shoulder. "Just a photo of a building with a lot of doors and thousands of vehicles outside. Probably exaggerated, you know, for effect."

Blaise sits back and this topic, like many before it, loses steam when they realize they won't find the answers they seek amongst each other.

 _Drake turns to Blair and asks, "What about you? What do you need at the mall?"_

 _Blair flips her luxurious hair over her shoulder-_

"Salazar, Blaise, you're such a ponce."

"Fuck you, my character a hot. You're just jealous of the sweet reference sketch I made. Look at those tits..."

 _-and levels her friend with a serious expression. "I'm applying for a position as the Secretary of the Mall. If I make the Charisma check, I'll bonus $20,000 annual wealth."_

 _"Does education count for that?" Teddy wonders._

 _They look to Drake who confirms with a nod of his head. "It's a double bonus, in fact, so you'll have a plus two."_

 _Blair's bid for new gainful employment is successful as is Violet's quest for a new gown. Teddy says he had nothing to gain from the trip except that his friends all owe him $50 for the use of his car. "Why do you think I bought it? I'm playing the long game."_

Ultimately, it's a successful session overall, and the friends put away their parchment, dice, and reference manuals, leaving nothing in the Room of Requirement but four chairs and a bare wooden table.

"Can we plan our next session for Tuesday instead of Wednesday?"

Three sets of eyes roll at Draco, and Theo asks with a sigh, "Quidditch?"

He narrows his eyes in response. "You know, I'm lucky they let me on the house team. I'm the only eighth year on any of them."

"Because our house was decimated by the war, not because you're that special, Malfoy."

"Whatever," he doesn't argue. "Can we change it or not?"

In the end, his friends agree and all slowly make their way from the rooms. It's Saturday night, well past curfew. They always leave separately, a decidedly Slytherin tactic, so, if one of them is caught by Filch or a professor, at least the other three are likely in the clear.

Draco, as the Mortgage Master, is always the last to leave, all of their parchments and paraphernalia safely shrunk and stowed away in a small satchel. They are tucked under a false bottom. He also carries, over the lining that hides their game items, his Transfiguration text and some personal Charms reading. He, if caught, will apologize for losing track of time while studying and proffer the books as evidence of his dedication to his marks.

He's almost in the clear. There is a crossroads where hanging a left takes him away from the usual moving staircases and classroom corridors and leads to the dungeons and nowhere else. He is just rounding that corner, probably no more than the heel of his shoe visible, when he hears a throat clear behind him.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut and counts to five, slipping his aloof facial mask into place and turning back to the other corridor with a charming smile. He has it all rehearsed; the bit about studying late and being distracted by Charms theory and 'oh my, is that the time? I'm dreadfully sorry…'

All of that dies on his tongue when he sees, not a professor, not Filch, not even a Head student, but instead the swottiest of swots: Hermione Granger.

"Oh, it's just you." His mask slips away, and he offers a haughty sniff, looking down the slope of his nose.

"What are you doing out so late, Malfoy?"

The sniff evolving into a full on sneer, he gives her a once over. She's dressed surprisingly well, actually. Not her Hogwarts robes, but not the loose jumpers and muggle denims she favours on Hogsmeade weekends either. She has smart trousers with a wide leg and a perfectly pressed center seam. No placard or pockets, they sport a ladylike side zip. Her cornflower blue blouse is buttoned all the way to her neck and tucked in at the waist, a line of what looks to be quality pearls disappearing under the lapels. He's seen her without her robes on a few occasions and was relatively aware of her shapely figure, but the image she cuts in this smart attire makes him twitch just the tiniest bit. She's equal parts sexy and alluring, as much as she looks authoritative and domineering. It's a good look for her. Unfortunately, seven years of brow beating the young woman has trained him not to be too complimentary.

He ignores her question as to his own whereabouts and comments, "You're looking decidedly less plebian today, Granger. Date with Weasley, was it?"

What starts as an exaggerated roll of eyes ends on her levelling him with a hard look and raised brows. "Firstly," she starts, "I'm a muggleborn, but I was never _plebian_ , Malfoy. My penchant for comfort and less dedication to shallow pursuits should not have been indicative of my social status. My father is the foremost authority of muggle Oral Surgery in Europe. Mother gives seminars on practical dentistry the world over."

Draco isn't entirely sure about the terminology, but, knowing her parents are teeth healers, he assumes this to mean they are masters in their field.

"Secondly, if I had a date with Ronald, I sure as hell wouldn't wear my Armani trousers. He would likely cock up the zip trying to rush to the sexual finish line."

Somehow he holds back the snicker he would almost like to share at Weasley's expense.

"Thirdly, there would be no date with Ronald because we broke up weeks ago."

That's news to him. But, then again, Draco has been keeping to himself this year, steadfastly ignoring most of the student body. They all hate him anyway; this one included, he's sure. No one seems to think his being coerced into the war is an excuse for his bullying behavior for their first five years of education. If he's honest, that's probably a fair assessment. He was a right little shit to nearly everyone. Funny how being afraid of being murdered in your own home will make you think hard about philosophy.

"And lastly…"

 _Merlin, is she still talking?_

"…you are ignoring my question. I have clearance from McGonagall. What are _you_ doing out this late?"

Slipping into his most charming Draco-suit, he offers a crooked grin and lifts the satchel in indication of the contents. "Studying, actually. You see, I'm trying for top spot this year, and I keep coming in second."

She snorts in some sort of disbelief: Either that he is being sincere or that the idea of him beating her is anything but laughable.

"What are you studying?"

 _Ah, so she called the bluff_

Draco lifts the leather flap and pulls out the Charms text. It's not been assigned by Flitwick in class, which is what makes it such a wonderful cover. To have sought it out himself, shows some dedication on his part. Even more in his favor, he has actually even read the thing. He delved pretty hard into Charms during sixth year, thinking it would help him with that blasted Death Eater transporting cabinet.

"That's not required reading," she notes with suspicion.

"It's not," Draco agrees with a nod, "but I'm actually quite fond of the subject."

"Is that so," she says with narrowed eyes. "So, what did you think of the introduction?" She glances down at the book, daring him to answer and obviously assuming he can't.

"I thought the writer is an indulgent little ponce with his knickers in a twist that wizards have more respect for Transfiguration than Charms. I also think his penchant for repetitive use of the phrase 'in my Masterful opinion' indicates his vastly undeserved ego, especially considering I've found at least six grammatical errors throughout and a faulty wand motion in the Levitation section. However, it is also the most comprehensive reference on non-verbal and wandless magic I've found in modern writings, so I've soldiered on."

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. Draco allows himself to smile at her in an utterly sincere manner. It feels so very good to surprise Know-it-all Hermione Granger.

He has one more surprise. In this whole exchange, one word in particular stood out. "So," he says, casually, tipping his head to indicate her attire, "those are Armani, you said?"

"They are…" She's cautious, no doubt wondering where he could be going with this and, in fact, probably surprised he recognized the word.

"Did you purchase them in a Shopper's Mall?"

"I… no. I got them at Harrods."

Draco nods sagely, as if that means anything to him.

"Quality establishment like that," he guesses, "… I suppose they have Escalation there?" He studies his cuticles but spies through his lashes at the witch. A visual reference would be better. He tries to invoke as much realism as possible in their gameplay, but a description would work almost as well.

"Escalation? Do you mean, like… inflation?" She looks abjectly confused. Her pretty doe eyes and slightly parted lips seem to have forgotten momentarily that she's supposed to hate him. Noticing those same eyes and lips, he's becoming a bit forgetful of that fact as well.

"Perhaps I'm not saying it correctly," he tries smoothly. "To move to upper floors. Escalating."

"An escalator?"

Draco snaps his fingers and saunters just a step closer.

"That's it. Brightest witch indeed…I knew you'd figure it out."

Ok, so now maybe he's laying it on a little thick.

"They do. Have escalators, I mean." She says is slowly, full of suspicion. He can't blame her for that, really. He may have been acquitted after the Battle of Hogwarts, largely due to anonymous testimony of, he assumes, her dear friend Harry, but he's still Draco Malfoy to her. A bit humbled perhaps, but largely still a bit of a snobbish, entitled, pureblood heir.

"Fantastic," he answers. "Of course, I've not seen them up close, but I understand they lift one to the upper floor of a building without any magic."

"Yes… that's about right. They're like self-moving stairs."

He brightens, finally understanding. "Oh! Like here, then? At Hogwarts?"

Draco watches as she chews her lip, finding the right words. "No, not quite like here. The stair _case_ doesn't move, the stairs do. They rotate up and sort of over and down then back up again." She is using her hand in a circular motion which, he assumes, illustrates the path of the stairs.

"Is it difficult?"

"What?" she asks. "Building them?"

"No, no." Daring another step closer, he clarifies, "Using one. Mounting it. Does it require a lot of….you know… dexterity?"

Hermione eyes him with a strange look before shaking her head. He wonders if she is looking for an innuendo in his phrasing. He hadn't meant it, but he supposes that may have sounded a bit suggestive.

"Not as such. I mean, you might stumble a bit when you climb on. And I've heard of people having skirt tails or trouser legs stuck at the end where the stairs go back under the floor."

This is fascinating! He's feeling giddy with knowledge and asks with what he doesn't realize is probably a creepy smile, "Does anyone ever die?"

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you," she grinds out, and then, "No, Malfoy. No one dies on an escalator. Just maybe fall down or tear their clothes."

He files that away to use for later game sessions. If Pansy fails a dex check, he could make her lose her Charisma dress! The escalator just became a great way to dole out consequences for failed rolls.

And more importantly: Why didn't he think of this before? Ask a _muggleborn_ about muggles. He can make for a far more realistic experience if we knows more about the strange gadgets that helps them live without magic.

Pleased as proverbial punch, Draco grins at her and comments, "Clever creatures, muggles."

"Creatures?!" she screeches at him, fists balling at her sides.

He's confused by her reaction. Was that not an apt word? House Elves are creatures, and she loves those. Werewolves are creatures, and she was chummy with their old professor. It's a word in his vocabulary that was always meant to represent anything sentient that isn't a wizard.

"I meant no disrespect," he tries, but the witch is right fuming.

"Just, get back to your dungeon, Malfoy. You're lucky I'm not Head Girl, or I'd dock so many points your children wouldn't see the House Cup!"

With that, she flips her luxurious curls over her shoulder and stomps her way toward Gryffindor tower.

Draco watches her go, annoyed at her presumption and intrigued by her attire and demeanor. She's a little on her own this year. The Boy Who Lives Over and Over Again has returned, but he seems to be spending a lot of time with the Weaslette.

As for their Weasel sidekick, he is told her then-boyfriend had decided to go to work at WWW with his now twinless brother. Draco always sort of liked the twins. The loss of Fred Weasley is one that even Draco has mourned. He might have been raised to look down on the family, but has been learning that many things he was raised to believe were either untrue, exaggerated, or from a skewed perspective.

The first few days of term, he had assumed Hermione would wilt like a flower without rain when left to her own devices. Instead, she seems to have flourished. Striking up friendships with a handful of Ravenclaws and some of the younger Gryffindors, Granger is an altogether more confident and mature witch. No one comes out of a war unchanged. Just in what way it affected the intellectual little heroine has become a curiosity for Draco over the past few weeks.

Plus, she knows all about muggle gadgets. A Cheshire smile curls his lips. It's a lovely two part plan: Get close to the girl to, A, find out more details so he can properly MM his role-playing game, and, B, find out more about the pretty witch in question.

He sleeps soundly that night, a smile on his face as he drifts off, considering the possibilities.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Hi :)**

 **ok so real quick, this is going to be a relatively short piece. A handful of chapters, most already written, so posting should be pretty steady and fast. Maybe not daily... I kill myself trying to do that lol.. but twice weekly ish?**

 **Whatever... There will be posting. It will be silly. Dramione will ensue.**

 **Special thanks to my husband who deeply inspired this fic. 20 years ago he made me read Harry Potter. Today, using an RPG as a plot device was full on his suggestion. There is no end to our nerdy romance.**

 **I hope you have a good time and would be ever so grateful for follows, faves, and reviews!**


	2. Taxidermy

**Love and thanks to beta-extraordinaire LightofEvolution!**

 **And huge thanks to In Dreams for inspiring the topic of this particular chapter :)**

* * *

Her eighth year at Hogwarts is shaping up to be, unequivocally, the best year of Hermione's life.

All those years of war: Of Basilisks and deadly riddles and Dementors and Umbridges….Hermione was so young when it all started, she never stopped to think what 'normal' might look like. The sort of normal other people take for granted. The sort she hasn't seen since she was eleven years old.

 _This is what normal is_ , she muses to herself, looking around the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione had grabbed her familiar, a small box of Honeydukes chocolates, and a book, and is now enjoying a crisp autumn day by the Black Lake. A warming charm keeps her toasty, and Crookshanks is sunning himself on a flat stone nearby.

For seven years she was the swot. The teacher's pet. The bore and the killjoy. It never occurred to her friends, she supposed, that it might _seem_ like all she did was study, but that was because she had so little time to spare. Did they never consider how much of her free time had been spent on trying to keep them all alive? Did they imagine that "oh, it's a basilisk in the chamber" just came to her in her sleep? No, thank you ever so, it did _not_. She'd dedicated countless hours researching chambers and the founders and Nicholas bleeding Flamel for _years_ … always at the detriment to her study time.

And now the result? Hermione is completely caught up on her studies for the weekend and it's only Saturday morning. She can sit here for hours, if she so desires, doing nothing but reading and relaxing and being content. She could be at Hogsmeade right now with the perfectly nice and perfectly acceptable Justin Finch-Fletchley. She could also be tutoring a fifth year Ravenclaw who has been too lazy to keep up on her schoolwork and asked for her help. Or she could have visited her ex-boyfriend and met 'Cindy', Ron's new flavor of the week.

There is no greater joy, Hermione has discovered, in saying a polite but firm 'no'. Justin is nice enough, but not really of any interest to Hermione. All those years of being the wallflower, the ugly duckling, she has come to understand was more about her own lack of confidence as anything else. Ron Weasley may not have been the one for her, but he had wanted her, and it is amazing how much that has done for her sense of worth. Now she sees wizards looking her way and feels, for the first time, the luxury of being able to choose.

And speaking of Ron Weasley, she will love him until the day she dies in some detached way, but his new habit of parading witches in front of her to make her jealous, or maybe make her regret breaking off their relationship, is nothing she wants to be a part of. He has Harry if he craves that show-and-tell nonsense.

As for the Ravenclaw? Please. Hermione didn't get where she is by being lazy, and she is not responsible for the grades of everyone around her. She can also thank Ron Weasley for that life lesson.

Why did she date him again?

Hermione breathes a happy sigh and lets her head and shoulders lean against the large tree behind her. She slips a marker into the tome on mid-century advancements in the potions field and closes her eyes, basking in the mid-morning sun and letting the faint purr from her kneazle lull her into a comfy dozing state.

She's nearly there, blissful and content, when a body flops down beside her, and a voice scares the living fucking daylights out of her.

"Good morning, Granger."

Hermione squeaks, and her body jumps involuntarily, before she realizes where she is. One hand pressed to her chest above her heart, she pants and glares back at him. "Malfoy! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

The git has the nerve to chuckle, even as he offers a weak apology. "Sorry, didn't realize you had nodded off."

She settles back into place and picks up her book, opening it and trying very hard to look disinterested in the Slytherin beside her. Her last contact with Draco had been odd enough: Asking about Harrods and escalators and her trousers…

"Is there something I can do for you?" She tries to sound haughty and dismissive, keeping her eyes firmly on the pages of her book, but, of course, not reading a word.

"Just thought I might be polite and say hello. I was on my way to Hogsmeade."

With a miniscule shake to her head, blinking back disbelief, she tries for a flippant, "Well… hello then, I suppose. Best run along now."

Draco shrugs and makes no move to stand. "Maybe I'll stay at the castle today. I've really no need to go." There is a beat of uncomfortable silence until he asks, "What are you reading?"

"Hmm? Oh, umm, it's Hayley's 'Twentieth Century in the Cauldrons'.

He waves his hand around dismissively and seems to note she is only at the beginning of the book. "I wouldn't waste your time. He completely ignores the advancements of the nineteen twenties and thirties that led to the changes. I found it to be incomplete and underwhelming."

She cocks her eyebrow at him. "I didn't realize you were so well-read."

His grin must be deceptive, she thinks. It's far too honest to be meant for her. "I'm probably smarter than you give me credit for."

Too honest to be sincere. Too friendly not to be cryptic. Hermione narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. He _is_ smart, she would do well to remember. He fixed a broken Vanishing Cabinet, after all. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Nothing, like I said. Just being sociable. I suppose I should let you get back to your reading." He moves to stand and seems to notice her cat for the first time. 'Seems to notice' in a wholly obvious and put-on way, doing an almost cartoonish double-take.

"Oh, why, is that your kneazle?" It's so wooden, so stiff, he sounds rehearsed. _Badly_ rehearsed.

She lets her eyes flick to Crooks briefly and then back to Draco, suddenly not trusting to take her eyes off of him. "I'd think that much is obvious."

"I'd heard he was lost for a time. Bet you're glad to have him back," he prods, with all the subtlety of a hippogriff in a potions shoppe.

She scoffs, "Of course I am. He wasn't lost, I just left him here while I was with Harry on the run. I found him after the battle."

"That's good, that you were able to find him. That he survived. Now you never have to part with him."

"Right…" She has no idea where he's going with this.

"I mean, kneazles have a long lifespan, so you'll probably have him for _years_. And then, you know, you can… oh, what is it muggles do with their pets? Taxi- something?"

Hermione furrows her brows. "Taxidermy?"

Draco offers a smarmy point/wink combo, grinning at her. "That's it. Taxidermy. Do you imagine you will have that done, when the time comes?"

"I… what the fuck, Malfoy?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." And he seems to be. Genuinely sorry, and she watches as he backpedals. "Was that too personal a question? Forgive me, I don't understand all of muggle culture. Of course the decision is yours, and I certainly don't mean to pry. I just think it's… interesting. I mean, how precisely do they do that, without magic and all?"

"What the fu-… taxidermy? I mean, I'm not _entirely_ sure. They basically just remove the organs and treat the hide with chemicals and stuff it with… I don't know… sawdust? Look, I'm not an authority on all things muggle. I don't know the inner workings of the preservation industry."

"Why do people do it, do you think? Is it because they don't have portraits? Do they taxidermy people as well."

Horrified would be the apt word for her expression, and she screeches, "No! Oh my God, Malfoy, of course not! It's just a way to… to… show off hunting trophies or remember a pet. You don't… what in Merlin's name is _wrong_ with you?!"

She stands to face him, fists balled at her side and starts on a proper tear. "You know, muggles are _not_ barbarians, in spite of what you may think. Muggles are people just like anyone else. Just like wizards and witches but with no magic. Just because they don't have portraits and stasis charms doesn't mean they do things just to be morbid! I mean, you don't stuff your loved ones to display in your house! Of course there is the embalming process for burial, but that's a completely different thing!"

"Embalming?"

"ARGH!" She's run out of words for just a moment and settles on a growl. Hermione takes a breath, and, always unable to resist explaining things to the ignorant, calms herself and answers, "Embalming is the method of removing the blood and then refilling the veins with a fluid that helps preserve the body for burial."

"Like a stasis charm without magic."

She nods. "Right. The fluid keeps the body from decomposing for years."

"But that's _not_ taxidermy," he asks, clarifying.

"No, it's different." Though, in her head now, she's hearing everything played back and realizing maybe her disgust at the idea of taxidermy being used on people was perhaps a bit of an overreaction. Without knowing anything about muggles, which he doesn't, it seems like a fair question.

Not that she will admit it to him. "Look, Malfoy, I don't know why you're so interested in the death rituals of muggles-"

"I'm not," he says, too quickly. "I mean, just basic curiosity, Granger." He flashes her a winning smile that does nothing to calm her, and instead makes her more suspicious than ever.

 _Why does he want to know about muggle death practices?_

"Whatever," she dismisses, reaching down to pick up her familiar, more protectively than might be necessary. "I'm going inside. Enjoy Hogsmeade."

Hermione walks quickly back toward Hogwarts, finally looking back once she has halved the distance to find Malfoy staring after her. She shivers a little, finding his gaze too intent for her liking. She realizes she hasn't seen him around much in the past few days, since their odd conversation late at night in the corridor, and can't shake a foreboding feeling that she should be paying more attention to his odd behavior.

* * *

"Today, boys and girls, we have a very challenging quest." Draco looks around and raises an eye at Pansy, daring her to take issue with the way he addressed the group.

She doesn't seem to even notice his comment, as she is distracted with balancing her character's monetary funds, making deductions for her lavish lifestyle. The look on her face reveals her disappointment with the total sum.

Blaise, meanwhile, is doodling on the parchment on his section of the table, seeming to be enhancing the breast size of his character sketch. Theo is picking up and rolling the same die over and over again absently.

"I hear that's bad luck," Pansy comments, not looking up.

Theo seems to instinctively know she means him. "Oh, yes? Why is that?"

"Imagine how angry you'll be if you roll a perfect twenty right now, and then completely blow a check roll later."

"That doesn't even make sense. It's not like the die is magically loaded with a series of numbers… right, Draco?" Theo seems suddenly unsure, and checks with the MM to be certain.

"No, they're not magic. It's completely chance," Draco confirms.

"Well, then there's no logic behind it," Theo nods, assured.

Pansy rolls her eyes and continues organizing her funds and stats.

"So what's this challenging quest, then?" Blaise is adding what appears to be the jut of nipples to his character's shirt.

"We," Draco begins with dramatic flourish, "have been tasked with collecting game animals to be sold to a taxidermist." And he waits, smug and confident with his knowledge. Blaise doesn't disappoint.

"What in Salazar's Sack is a taxidermist?"

"It is a profession that specializes in non-magic stasis charms on dead animals for display. He is contracting to pay us each one hundred ' _Dollars_ ' for each animal we can bring in."

Pansy wrinkles her nose. "Ew, like a fox hunt? I'm not riding a horse. I'd have to take off my Armani and I'd lose my bonus. And anyway, we don't have hounds."

"No, it's different," Draco explains. Pureblood knowledge of hunting is, as with many muggle things, relegated to practices from centuries ago. He had anticipated a lot of questions, reading every scrap of information in his Master guide, and then, of course, consulting with Granger. "They use muggle guns over there and just shoot the animal. You'll need a subterfuge roll for tracking and a dex check to take the shot, but we can work as a team and let the member with the highest stat take point."

"Why do they display dead animals?" Theo is wrinkling his nose in a way that reminds Draco very much of his also present ex-girlfriend. "Is it because they don't have portraits."

Their MM nods sagely. "I believe so. As I understand it, they use this practice for trophies as well as to commemorate pets-"

"Ew! Dear Merlin, they keep dead pets in their houses?! Do they do this… taxi-thing to people, too?!" Pansy looks appropriately aghast.

He is so glad he asked Hermione about this before they started the quest. Levelling Pansy with a look, Draco scoffs. "Of course not. They're not _barbarians_. They have completely different rituals for human death, obviously."

Pansy looks a bit chastised and Draco plunges forward, lest they ask him too many detailed questions he can't answer. "Alright, so how are we travelling to the hunting grounds?"

There is a short argument in which the other three want to volunteer Theo's vehicle, and he wants to negotiate a fare for its use. They agree, finally, on giving Theo a 31% cut of their payment from the taxidermist, leaving the other three to evenly share 69%.

The mission goes mostly in their favour. The team brings in five mallards, a whitetail deer, four rabbits, and two pheasants. They only miss three shots due to bad rolls, and spook one flock of geese when Draco rolls a piss-poor three.

" _Nice going, Mr. Accountant."_

" _Fuck off, Teddy."_

It's nearly one in the morning by the time the session ends. It was one of the most interesting, if Draco does say so himself. Perhaps in part due to his more complete understanding of their objective. The players all seem content with their advancement of character, even hitting level 8 as a group.

"Next week, we can level our stats."

They groan collectively and Draco smirks. They all hate the leveling process. Though he knows they won't complain when their numbers go up.

Pansy and Blaise have already snuck out, and Theo is helping Draco put away the rest of their game paraphernalia.

"I must say, I think the missions are getting better. Did you order some new materials?"

Draco raises a brow in question, which is completely a front on his part. He's fully aware that his details have been more apt tonight, mostly thanks to his brief conversation with a bushy-haired little witch, but he's not sure he wants to reveal that just yet.

"I _do_ know some things about muggles, Nott."

He snorts. "Since when?"

Draco busies himself folding up his remaining parchments and resolutely ignoring his friend.

"Fine. Don't tell me. Regardless, I just think… thanks for putting the time in, you know? We can tell you put in a lot of effort."

This time, when Draco looks up, it's Theo, unused to showing much sincerity, who won't meet his gaze. He appreciates the comment, nonetheless. A pack of pureblood heirs pretending to be muggles is a very strange thing indeed. Dangerous even, during the war years. Forbidden in their homes and their lives, they are all now free to explore the curiosities of their youth with no judgment from home. If the other students knew, he imagines they would judge them in a different way. Likely, they would be told they have no right to enjoy anything muggle after their bullying and bigotry.

It would be a fair point, even, but those students don't have to know. No one has to know except Draco and his friends. And, possibly, at some future point if Draco can grow a pair, Hermione Granger.

The next mission that the Master guide lines out is an outing at a "Frat Party". He wonders if Hermione has ever been to one and is already thinking how he might subtly ask her about it. He was pretty smooth when he asked about taxidermy, after all. He doesn't think there is any way she could guess his real reason for the sudden interest. Plus, and he might have imagined it, but she seemed to be giving him some pretty heated looks. He's giddy just thinking about where this could go with the pretty little swot.

Feeling quite fine indeed, Draco says, "Thanks, Theo. I'm glad you're enjoying it."

After Theo bids him goodnight, Draco stays in the Room just a bit longer before sneaking back, imagining running into Hermione in the corridors once again. If only life could be scripted as easily as a game. He could roll for charisma right into her knickers. It will be more difficult in real life, but he is starting to think it would be worth it.

He whistles back to his dorm, hoping not to get caught, but fantasizing…role-playing… the whole way about drawing the attention of the witch that is increasingly in his thoughts.

* * *

 **Big, big thanks to all of you for reading and an extra big hug for the follows, faves, and reviews on chapter 1! I really stepped out of my comfort zone digging deeper into humor. I hope you enjoyed this installment and would love to hear what you think!**


	3. Tourniquet

**Continued gratitude to LightofEvolution for devoting time to my little ramblings to help them be their best possible selves :)**

 **And also, thanks to my husband for inspiring the overall topic of this chapter.**

* * *

Hermione is enjoying yet another moment of peace by the lake when, yet again, Draco approaches her and flops by her side.

She isn't startled this time. At this point, it's becoming sort of a new normal. She was almost expecting him.

Just two days ago, he'd brushed by her in the Great Hall, claimed he was just 'passing by', and asked if she'd ever attended a 'frat party'. He'd used air quotes as he said it, sounding as shifty as ever. Hermione had glanced around her and found Harry and Neville watching the exchange, open suspicion on their faces.

"Err, no. Those gatherings are typically reserved for students attending a muggle uni." At his quizzical expression, she'd clarified, "An upper level education beginning at roughly the age we graduate Hogwarts and running from two to eight years, respectively."

The delight on his face was nearly comical, and he had almost fallen over himself, rushing gleefully away, as if he had somewhere to be. Hermione had looked at Harry, opened her mouth to speak, and then just shook her head in utter confusion.

"Granger." She looks over, now, at his greeting and finds that odd smile on his face. 'Odd' in its apparent sincerity.

"Malfoy. What brings you out here today?"

She expects a line about going to Hogsmeade or just being out for a stroll, but instead he says, "I just saw you out here, from the castle. Thought I'd say hello again."

"Oh… hello, then." _Now what?_ Hermione feels rather uncomfortable, glancing over to find him watching her with ghost of that honest grin and an open, if interested gaze.

Is he? _Interested_? Could that be why he keeps popping around and asking her random questions? Her suspicions have run a gamut of possibilities. From nefarious schemes to flirting, she has no idea what he wants with her.

"You spend a lot of time out here," he notes. "You never seemed the outdoor type."

"Oh, well, I'm not entirely. I'm just… enjoying my time here: What's left of it. I haven't really had the opportunity to just enjoy Hogwarts the last few years." She cringes a little, afraid she's pushed a button, implying the last two years were all fun and games for the Malfoy heir, and quickly adds, "I mean, none of us really have."

She feels a little guilty to even look at him but finally relaxes infinitesimally when he chuckles and agrees, "No, we really haven't. So," he continues, "what happens for you, after Hogwarts? Going to change the world from a Ministry cubicle? Run off to parts unknown in search of adventure?"

She hesitates before answering, still wary and internally searching for the ways this is a trick. "I had an interview with the Ministry. That night we spoke in the corridors actually."

"Ah, the Armani trousers. From Harrods."

"I… right." How bloody odd he remembers the muggle designer name she mentioned. His attention to detail is either very flattering or the strangest fucking thing ever. "I had an interview with the muggle relations office."

His face takes on a new quality. She wouldn't go as far as to say he frowns or it darkens, but his jovial expression is more than diminished. "You should be careful. There are a lot of wizards and witches who still don't like this new cooperation from the Ministry to the muggle governments. You might find yourself on the wrong end of a wand."

She studies him a moment, not liking this abrupt turn, and lifts herself to her feet. "Are you threatening me?" She hisses down at him.

"What? I don't know what you mean-"

She doesn't stay to hear his protests but, instead, stomps back toward the castle. Hearing a rustling behind her, she turns just enough to toss a tripping jinx over her shoulder and disappears back to Gryffindor tower.

* * *

Draco watches her departure from his position on the ground and knows that, somewhere along the way, that conversation went wrong. She still doesn't trust him. He would suppose that's fair, after all of their history, but it's disappointing.

He stands and brushes himself off, hoping for more opportunities to show her that he is a changed man. No animosity toward muggles, and very sincerely interested in the most interesting witch at Hogwarts. He tried mentioning her trousers and where she bought them, hoping she would be impressed with his knowledge of her heritage. Perhaps if he steps it up a notch? She has to be impressed by his growing interest in muggle culture.

 _It's fine_ , he thinks. He can wait. There are months left before the end of school. He's more determined than ever to get her attention. He's sure an opportunity will arise soon.

* * *

"Nine," Pansy announces dejectedly. Having no bonus for education, she fails many of these types of challenges.

The four companions are currently on the grounds, or 'campus', of a muggle university. Draco had explained in general what that means, grateful once again for the boundless source of knowledge he has found in Granger. The party is attending a social gathering here; the first step on their current quest that is meant to have a large monetary payoff at the end. Theo, in particular, has been looking for money-earning tasks in recent sessions, his funds still suffering from his purchase of a motor vehicle.

They hadn't been at the gathering, or 'frat party' as the guide calls it, for more than one round of play, when Blaise failed a dexterity roll and ended up with a bloody nose. Retreating their team into the loo, they are met with a cabinet stocked with a selection of items that Draco is allowing them to gather for use. Unfamiliar with the muggle terms, they have to rely on character knowledge checks to determine if they are medically useful here. They have already found that 'aspirin' and 'petroleum jelly' are not appropriate for use in this circumstance, Theo and Draco having already taken a turn at trying to roll for information.

Pansy had been next to try to remedy the situation. Unfortunately, the check being for knowledge has put her at a disadvantage.

Draco shakes his head at her failed attempt. "I'm sorry, your character doesn't know what a tampon is. Anyone else?"

Blaise picks up the die and tries his luck. "Fourteen, plus my bonus." He looks at Draco expectantly, knowing he's scored high enough to receive the answer.

Draco frowns, unsure, and picks up a slim tome to his right. "Let me check the guide." He catches Theo out of the corner of his eye looking annoyed. Draco knows that Nott in particular hates it when he has to consult the support materials for answers. As if he's supposed to have every bleeding muggle artifact memorized.

He answers the glare with a mumbled, "Fuck off, Theo."

Draco skims as quickly as possible and finally finds the item listed. "Tampon. Small cotton appliance used to absorb blood."

"Perfect!" Blaise looks terribly pleased with himself. "I do that then. _Use the tampon_. Is there a roll check?"

Draco looks back at Blaise and decides not to torture them or drag this out. "No, it's fine. It's a remedial use item." He recites in the clear, strong voice he uses for game narration, "You successfully use the tampon."

Crisis averted, the four get back to their "Frat Party" and score the contact for their next mission.

* * *

It's a beautiful day for Quidditch, Hermione thinks. Clear and sunny; a rarity for the area to be sure. Snug in her scarf and mittens, she doesn't mind the chill in there air, partially offset by the warming charm on her hat and robes.

Just because she doesn't like to sit a broom, doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy the game. She never really cared for running back and forth endlessly across an open field either, but that doesn't mean she doesn't root for England, yelling at the telly with her Dad, during the World Cup.

She has had a glorious last couple of weeks. Finally hearing back from the Ministry, she has been offered her dream job: A salaried position in Magical Creature regulation, specifically in the Rights and Legislation surrounding non-human magical beings. She will have a private office, her own assistant, and a salary that, in Wizarding terms, already rivals the annual income of one of her parents. Her final education scores at this point are merely a formality, but she intends to see the year through and takes a bit of pride in the fact that they are willing to hold the position for her another few months.

She has also had a few exchanges by owl with Ron, smoothing over the rifts of their relationship, as well as a date with Michael Corner on the last Hogsmeade day. He was very nice and it wasn't terrible, but she declined his offer to repeat the event. Though the outcome wasn't ideal, she is proud of herself for moving forward and exploring potential relationships outside of Ron. She had pined for him for so long, it had seemed strange to try with anyone else, even though they hadn't worked out.

That opinion is no longer in her mind and Hermione is ready to take on the world.

She has also gone two weeks without Draco Malfoy saying odd things to her or asking about muggle architecture and death practices… so that feels like a win.

This is one of those moments that Hermione Granger feels at peace. Like the years of war sitting at her back are truly lost to the ages and her life can finally blossom, open like a proverbial flower. Her parents are rooting for her, the Ministry is clamoring to secure her, and her fellow students are finally seeing her as a witch. A woman. Not a walking reference tome with bad hair.

She absentmindedly fluffs at her curls, still feeling the sting of all the years of bullying, but resolutely and quite stubbornly refusing to change her style on principle.

She is distracted by her thoughts when she hears a sickening crunch and looks up just in time for the stands to collectively take their feet, an audible gasp flowing like water through the crowd.

"It's Ginny!"

Pavarti Patil is pointing with one hand down onto the pitch while her other dramatically hides her mouth. Hermione would not say she has become best of friends with the girl, but now that they alone share what is known as the girls' eighth year dorm (Lavender Brown being dead at the hands of an equally deceased Fenrir Greyback) they have developed at least a pleasant level of acquaintance.

Following the angle of Pavarti's arm, she sees Ginny Weasley on the ground, nursing her face in her hands, as the other players swoop down from the sky. Hermione is on her feet in moments and racing to the bottom of the stands.

She is just within ear shot when she sees Draco Malfoy coming down from the other direction, broom clutched in his hand.

"She alright?" He is asking everyone and no one, looking at Hermione's friend with what almost seems like sincere concern. Hermione is pretty sure there must be a trick here somewhere. She half wonders if he caused the accident in the first place.

"I think my nose is broken," Ginny mumbles through her fingers.

"Let's get her to Pomfrey," one of the Gryffindors blurts out; ever obvious as is indicative of their house.

Hermione loves her house, truly, but really, we were all on that page without needing a script.

"We should stop the bleeding." Draco is looking around at, searching for something. "Does anyone have a handkerchief or…"

He stops and Hermione sees a muggle lightbulb go off behind his eyes. "Those muggle things for blood… starts with a 'T'…"

"A tourniquet?" One of the Slytherin chasers suggests.

Draco shakes his head, muttering, "no, no… oh!" Then he looks directly at Harry who is kneeling beside his girlfriend, and, with grave sincerity, he barks, "Tampon! Potter, do you have a tampon?"

To say the world goes still would only be slightly dramatic and overstated. Most everyone gathered around doesn't even know what the strange sounding word Malfoy just used _means_. But Hermione does, and, apparently, his face somehow both draining of color and also going a rosy blush of embarrassment, so does Harry.

"No! What the f- No, Malfoy, I don't have a bleeding tampon."

Bleeding. _Ironic_ , Hermione thinks.

She watches Draco spin around, searching the crowd. "Dean, you're muggleborn. Do you have a tampon with you?"

"Erm, no. Sorry, I'm fresh out." The look on his face is dubious at best, and Hermione is feeling a confused kinship with everyone born in the muggle world. There are only about five of them here, but they all look mortified.

Repeating a mantra of _not me, not me_ in her head, Hermione is trying desperately not to look his direction when he calls her out by name, the stupid sod.

"Hermione, you're always prepared. Come on, we need to help your friend. Do you have a tampon?" He entreats her with an open expression and unguarded eyes. Hermione just shakes her head numbly, cheeks pink in the sort of abject humiliation unique to teenage girls confronted with sexuality in awkward mixed company.

Somehow, Madame Hooch comes to everyone's rescue when she emerges from the crowd with a cloth in her hands and presses it to Ginny's face. "Here you are. Just a little blood, then. Let's get you sorted."

Ginny accepts her instructor's offered hand and rises to her feet, holding the small towel to her nose. She spares an agitated glare for Malfoy, not understanding exactly what he was doing, but knowing it made every muggleborn in attendance very uncomfortable.

The crowd slowly starts to disperse, some of the Gryffindor team following Ginny to check on her status, likely concerned for her as their Chaser as much as a friend. The Slytherin team heads back to their room to change, but, oddly, Draco stays behind, looking a bit perplexed.

She's not sure why she does it, but Hermione lingers, curiosity making her hesitate. She makes a show of fixing her robes and retying her scarf; anything to delay her departure until most everyone is off the pitch.

Everyone, except the pureblood who just asked all and sundry for a tampon.

"Did I pronounce it wrong?"

Hermione looks up, pretending to fidget with her cuff and appear surprised, like she hadn't known he was there.

"Hmm?"

"Tampon. Did I… is that not how you say it? Tee, A, Emm, Pee, Oh, En. Is it… TamPON." He says it like it rhymes with trombone, and Hermione can't stop the snort she releases.

He scowls at her and picks up his broom, preparing to stomp away. "You don't have to be such a shite about it," he pouts out, and turns to leave.

"Sorry," she blurts, almost unthinking; that natural instinct to apologize when someone is offended taking hold. "I mean, no… you had it right. The first time. Your pronunciation was flawless."

He looks wary but stops his retreat. Backtracking a few steps, he is kicking at the ground with a sort of embarrassed agitation. There is something boyish about his uncertainty. Almost petulantly charming. Nothing at all like the dark man she has known him to be the last few years. She wants to believe this is who he really is, but Hermione is by her nature one to question from all angles. Is it genuine? Or for her benefit?

Regardless, she holds her ground and waits for his reply, prepared to engage him in civil conversation.

"What was it then? I mean, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean… by asking for one?" She can hardly even say the word, embarrassed as she is. How he has been able to hold this conversation is beyond her. Ron was squeamish if she even hinted at her monthlies, and you'd think Harry was the result of a virgin birth for all of his unwillingness to accept the realities of a menstrual cycle.

"It's just… not something you typically bring up. In polite conversation. _Especially_ in mixed company."

His brow furrows even more. "Because of the blood? Is that a muggle thing? Do male and female muggles not discuss… bodies?"

If her cheeks weren't red before, they must be positively crimson by now. "Err… we do. I mean, some do… but, I mean not with just… school chums. That is, not _that_ type of body function." Merlin, this is mortifying.

"But what do you do? If someone is hurt? What about in a muggle hospital? Can your healers only work with their own gender? And here I heard you muggles thought _we_ were the conservative ones…"

"No, no. Of course it's different with injuries or, you know, _regular_ blood." If the earth could just swallow her up right now, that would be ever so convenient. _Regular blood? Godric, help her, that is just going to beg the question-_

"What do you mean, 'regular' blood? Is there an irregular kind?"

"Not irregular, you Neanderthal. It's completely natural, it's just not… the standard type. I mean, it's not even just blood. There's tissue from the uterus as well."

Hermione watches as Draco goes very, very pale. More pale than usual, and that is a magical feat, indeed. "Wait… is a tampon… is that for…" He trails off and gulps, finally squeaking out, "a witch's special friend?"

Well, that's a euphemism she hasn't heard since she was about eleven, but she nods anyway, suddenly even more embarrassed, and yet also having an internal laughing riot at the look on his face.

"Is it safe to assume you didn't actually know what it was, then?"

Deathly quiet and eyes wide, his head noddles chaotically.

"What in Merlin's name have you been doing to have such terribly flawed knowledge of such a random muggle item?" She asks the question aloud, but is more pondering to himself. His interest in non-magical culture has been odd and varied, but this one definitely takes the proverbial cake. It could seem, at first glance, an innocuous topic of conversation. Except, apparently to Draco, a tampon seems to have something to with violence and injury.

Architectural technology, death rituals, cleaning up bodily fluids…

Hermione almost doesn't want to put the pieces together of this particular puzzle.

In the meantime, he's still staring at her, head bouncing, as he stumbles out, "I have to… I need to go. Gonna check on… make sure Weasley… Bye."

She watches him go, curious and wary and hoping her instincts are just over-sharp from war and not leading her into another dangerous adventure.

* * *

 **A/N I was excited this week to find I had been nominated for a few categories in the Granger Enchanted Awards over on facebook. Huge thanks to anyone who thought enough of Say Please and Once More with Feeling to do me the honor.**

 **OK so FF was broken like all day. I wasn't able to do review replies and for that I sincerely apologize. So here I am at the end of the night and I thought maybe you'd prefer a chapter instead of a reply? But I certainly don't want to diminish my gratitude. So instead, love and thanks for each comment. I heart all your faces... let the credits roll!**

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 **Oh, and Happy St. Patty's Day! If you are out and about, have a green beer for me!**


	4. Terrorist

**A/N Continued love to LightofEvolution for her boundless beta efforts.**

Hermione feels like a bit of an idiot, but she can't ignore the niggling suspicions that have wormed their way into her brain.

Escalators and embalming and blood removal… Then just yesterday, she heard Tracey Davis saying something about hunting rifles to the older Greengrass sister. Malfoy's name had most definitely been mentioned in tandem.

Hermione has tried to find ways to justify it all. She also makes efforts to remember all the times Harry was sure Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater and how crazy he had sounded to her…

But then again, it had turned out that Harry was right all along. In the end, she just can't turn a blind eye without feeling guilty. She has tried to come up with reasonable explanations; theories as to why he might need to know all of these things. Ultimately, the only conclusion she has drawn is what has led her here today:

Draco Malfoy is a terrorist.

Maybe that's a little melodramatic. Maybe he's just planning to scare a few muggles… but whatever he's doing, it's not just chatting her up over random points of interest.

First, there's no way he's chatting her up. Hermione might be a bit more popular with the wizards this year, but he's _Malfoy_. Handsome, wealthy, and pure as snow, there is no way he's actually trying to get in her knickers.

Secondly, the conversation topics are too random to _be_ random. She hasn't discovered the exact pattern, but they are too varied and strange to have been drawn out of a proverbial hat of pick-up lines.

Plus, who the fuck hits on a girl by asking about having her dead cat stuffed?

So tonight, she's going to go back to her Hogwarts roots. Harry had been agreeable enough when she asked to borrow his Invisibility Cloak. "Going on a little adventure without me?" But he'd said it with a grin and had not seemed to expect an actual follow up.

She had thanked him and accepted the cloak. Just as she was stepping out the door, he called, "You wouldn't be following some suspicions about a pureblood wizard suddenly interested in women's reproductive health, would you?" She had only smirked in response and lifted one shoulder in a vague answer that universally means, _maybe, but I'm not telling_.

Now, she's walking stealthily behind Draco. It became obvious about two corridors and one staircase back that he is headed to the new and improved Room of Requirement. There is a bitterness in her throat when she thinks of Draco using this room when he and his friends are the reason it was destroyed in the first place. Bitter and just generally agitated by the wizard, Hermione is working herself up into quite a lather as she follows behind.

How _dare_ he? How dare he ask her about muggles that he hates and use her for knowledge and then run off to this room that he has no right to even know about!

Well, whatever he's doing, she plans to bloody well find out and then put an end to it.

Hermione stops a few steps back and watches Draco pace in front of the doors. There is a ghost of a grin on his face, like he's anticipating what awaits him gleefully. The bastard.

When he opens the door he does so slowly, mindful of any noise, and then makes one last sweep of his gaze down the corridor. Hermione waits as long as she can before stepping forward and letting her foot catch the closing door. She slips in carefully, eyeing his back as he walks into the room and letting the door shut softly behind her.

"You're late, you know."

Three Slytherins are waiting for Malfoy, sitting ominously around a plain wooden table in the middle of the room. In front of each of them, she finds parchment, quills, and small books. From her vantage point, she can't read anything, but they are all looking at Draco very seriously, obviously put out that he has arrived last to their meeting.

"I had to take a detour. Thought I heard something. Filch, maybe? Probably just jumpy."

Theo Nott, who had addressed him, nods and settles in to face the table.

Pansy Parkinson is here. She has one leg crossed over the other at the knee and her arms folded across her chest. "I hope you planned the end of the mission for tonight. I'm tired of messing about in muggle graveyards."

 _Mission? Graveyards?_ This might be worse than Hermione suspected.

"We're done with all that. You missed it last session, but we've moved on. Tonight, we are focusing on a primary school."

Hermione stifles a gasp, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. It can't be…? They wouldn't harm children would they?

She can't believe what she's hearing. Blaise Zabini is saying something about getting in and out as quickly as possible, not to waste too much time. Hermione is stunned. She wishes she had brought in Harry on the whole thing.

"I'll take the kindergarten room," Nott is saying.

"Nuh uh," Parkinson is quick to argue. "That's the easy one. I say we roll for our assignments."

 _Roll? They are playing chance with the lives of school children?_ Hermione isn't sure if she wants to scream or be sick. To think, she was the one to give them the benefit of the doubt. She spoke for Draco before his trial. She petitioned the Wizengamot to allow the pureblood children to resume their studies.

Hermione watches in complete disgust as they all pick up a large die and roll it on the table in front of them.

Blaise fist pumps and announces, "N-n-n-n-nineteen, suckers!" The other two groan, and Draco Malfoy just rolls his eyes.

"Blaise takes the kindergarten room then. Nott, you're first. Pansy, you have second. I'll take third. Once we're finished, we meet in the school yard to discuss our next move."

Hermione has a streak of brave stupidity you could ride a thestral across, but she's also brilliant, so she's been told, and she knows when she's outnumbered. She is careful in making her escape, being sure to keep an eye on the Slytherins as she creeps out of the smallest crack possible in the door. Once in the corridor, she sets up camp and waits. As some of them leave, she will confront whoever remains at the end. She generally hopes it is Draco. They have built a rapport in the past days. Sure, it's a rapport based on him using her for reconnaissance and her watching his movements in suspicion, but a rapport nonetheless. Her relationship with the other three is nonexistent. With what she is learning about them, she'd very much like to keep it that way.

Plus, Malfoy is a sissy. She's pretty sure she can take him in a fight.

Hunkered down under Harry's cloak, she watches the door for nearly two hours when it finally opens and Blaise is the first to emerge. He looks right, then left, before fully exiting the room and shutting the entrance softly behind him. She watches him walk away, disgusted by his games of chance over other people's lives.

Next is Parkinson. She's cautious as she opens the door, but still holds herself primly, her eyebrow raised, daring the world not to go her way.

The wait is longer after that. Blaise and Pansy had left probably within ten minutes of one another. Nott doesn't emerge for another half hour. He has a casual air about him when he finally does, hands in his pockets as he strolls away.

Hermione is so caught up in judging him for his aloof attitude after a session of plotting murder, that she nearly misses her chance to catch the door. She dives for it, only able to sneak her fingertips in the crack to stop it from closing.

Malfoy is standing at the table, stacking and organizing various parchments. He taps the edges together on the table, making perfectly neat piles to lay atop the already gathered books. He looks peaceful. Almost serene. It's such a shame he wasn't able to cast aside his past after all. Just another bigot, following in the path he was raised and somehow missing the chance to think for himself. It's almost enough to make an optimistic Hermione start to question any hope for human behavior. Maybe we are just doomed to repeat the past, never breaking from the shackles of our heritage.

It fills her with disappointment, but not enough to forego her mission. Hermione prepares to take her prey unawares and get some answers. Hopefully, it's not too late to stop all this before someone gets hurt.

* * *

It was a good session, if Draco does say so himself. Shorter than some of their better nights, but he was late, so he can hardly complain.

His group made some cash for their characters by assisting at a primary school. Draco questions the realism of the game, suggesting that muggles just let random people come in to work for a day without credentials. He might have believed it years ago, indoctrinated as he was to believe them ignorant heathens, but his little exposure to muggleborns has been chipping away at that reality for years. Exhibit A is a particular bushy-haired witch who has been looking at him with some mean side eye recently. He knows he messed up with the tampon debacle, but there's no reason to shoot him death glares.

He likes her pretty face much better on those rare occasions she smiles at him. His plan to get to know her by asking questions seems to be failing spectacularly.

He slips the parchments and books into the bottom of his charmed bag and slides his more Hogwarts-appropriate texts on top. Closing the satchel and starting to head to the door, He is rehearsing potential conversations to have with his favorite little Gryffindor in the coming days.

She doesn't know it yet, but she's about to receive a full unleashing of Draco Malfoy charm. His mild obsession is as much a surprise to himself as it would be to anyone. He's not sure what exactly captured his fancy, beyond the obvious of her developed figure, but it seems to run a bit deeper. Their conversations, though brief, have been rather enjoyable. She's quick and smart and just haughty enough to feel familiar. Like she has just a dash of pureblood heiress in the personality soup that makes up her character.

She reminds him a little of his mother. Draco doesn't need anyone to point out the oedipal connotations of that either, thank you very much.

He's no more than two paces from the door when his body goes completely rigid, and he falls backwards, like a board to the floor. There is no cushioning charm, so the effect is very uncomfortable.

Before he has time to register anything beyond a nonverbal _what the fuck_ , there is a weight atop his chest and a bit of vinewood shoved into his jugular.

"Malfoy."

He has enough presence of mind to appreciate that she doesn't say something stupid like "Don't move" to a wizard in a full body bind. Fucking Potter probably would have. Definitely Weasley.

"Granger," he manages, trying to sound unaffected and somehow charming, considering his position. "Can I help you with something?"

"You can tell me what you and your little cabal are planning so I can put an end to it. I just can't believe…" Her voice hitches a little, and he notices for the first time that she looks sincerely upset. "Children, Draco?" She finishes with a shaky breath. "I always wanted to believe… you were better than that."

Brow in a full on furrow, Draco is searching his mind for whatever slight he must have made against her or her friends. Unfortunately, he's drawing a very large blank. He realizes her hex, while keeping him immobile, does not prevent him from speaking.

"Granger, I don't know what you're asking, or, hell, how you even found me, but if you would take your wand out of my neck I'd really appreciate it. You're… and I don't feel ashamed to admit it… mildly terrifying."

Her eyes narrow and she makes no move to stand. "You'll think terrifying if you don't start talking. Or," she pauses, "better yet, I'll just check out your little bag."

Oh, well, this is embarrassing. Draco squeezes his eyes closed, mortified. This is not how he wanted her to find out about his new hobby. Scratch that: He isn't sure he _ever_ wanted her to know about his hobby. For that matter, Draco was sort of hoping he and his three friends would just take this collectively to their graves.

He tries to put on his most commanding, entitled tone. "You can't just go about looking at a wizard's personal property! That's my private things, and I'll thank you not to touch them."

She merely snorts at him, amused by the sound of it, and continues to rifle through his bag. When he hears the sound of the false bottom being ripped forcibly away, Draco swallows and braces himself. "It's not what you think…" he starts, but then stalls. What is it, if not what she thinks? What does she think for that matter? So far, she's deadly silent, and Draco resolutely stares at the back of his own eyelids, waiting for what's next. Mockery? Pity? Look at the silly pureblood, pretending he has any right to the muggle world after all he's done. Must be a pretty sad state of affairs when the Malfoy scion has to escape into role playing to find a little peace, a little happiness. He huffs a calming breath out through his nose and waits.

"What is this…" Her voice is soft, and at least she has removed her wand from his throat.

Draco dares, first, one eye to open, then the other.

Hermione Granger is straddled over him, flipping through his Mortgage Master guide, her wand forgotten and lying beside him. If the binding would wear off, he could make a play for it and get the crazy witch off of him.

Then again… it's not a terrible position to be in. Her pretty little nose is doing that scrunchy thing he's noticed when she's reading intently, as her deep brown eyes move side to side, taking in his notes. Not to mention, her long legs are curled around his body, bent at the knees and barely holding her high enough to not be literally grinding against him. Perhaps he should take what little pleasure in this moment that he can.

That works for a few moments, but Draco is a resolutely impatient person as well. So, finally, he clears his throat.

She looks down as if she'd forgotten she was straddling him like a broom; an analogy he is fully aware carries a sexual connotation and is internally trying to enjoy through his lingering fear. "Maybe, you could at least let me sit up?"

Met with suspicion, he sighs and points out, "I don't even have a wand. It's in my bag, which is in your possession."

Slowly, like she's backing away from a fucking chimera, she climbs off of him, wand at the ready, and stands to her full height. After a moment of hesitation, still gripping the strap of his satchel tightly, she releases him from the body bind.

For a moment he just lays there breathing, nervous for her reaction and still slightly buzzing from the feel of her body touching his. It's probably not normal to be sexually aroused by a physical altercation, but there you have it.

"What is all this, Draco? Is this… is it a game?"

He studies her face but nods quickly. "Of course it's a game." Seeing the still wary look on her face, he asks, "Wait… what exactly did you think you were going to find?"

"I thought… I mean…. You just asked so many bizarre questions! Embalming? Tampons?... I mean, who the fuck asks if you're going to taxidermy your cat… _before_ it dies!?"

Standing so he can face her, not liking the feeling of talking to her from the ground, he shrugs. "How was I to know what's appropriate? I've never met a muggle before."

"You've met me," she argues back.

"You're a witch."

It's such a powerful moment, and they both seem to realize it simultaneously, staring at each other with an assessing gaze. He can only imagine she's shocked he would argue the point. For his part, Draco is surprised how naturally the denial had come. Of _course_ she's a witch. He hasn't thought of her as anything else in a very long time. Not a muggle, not even a muggleborn… and certainly not that terrible word she has forever carved in her arm thanks to his mother's insane sister.

Draco breaks eye contact first and clears his throat. "I mean, it's different. You've been living at Hogwarts most of your life. I just thought… it might not be the same. For you. I don't know."

Her gaze is more piercing by the second, and Draco very much does not like the feeling that he is pinned beneath it, wriggling in vain. His instinct in this, as it has traditionally been in most aspects of his life, to run. He starts to say, "Maybe I should just-"

But she cuts him off and pockets her wand in her muggle jeans. "Tell me about the game."

"I… I'm sure you wouldn't be interested."

She cocks her eyebrow at him. "On the contrary, if this is what I think it is, I do believe I'm utterly fascinated."

She turns her back on him then, a move that doesn't escape his attention shows a certain level of trust, and takes a seat at the empty table across the room.

Draco's movements are, by comparison, slow and hesitant. He chooses the seat across from her, positioning the table between them in case her wand makes another appearance.

Or her fist, for that matter. Girl had a mean right hook at thirteen. He can't imagine she's any weaker now.

Sliding all of his materials back out of his satchel, he lays them in front of him, facing her direction, and opens the cover on the first book. Tossing his self-preservation out the window and trying for a wholly uncharacteristic bold approach, he starts to explain.

"In fifth year, Tracy Davis' older brother smuggled this in from the States. We weren't allowed to play it, of course. Our parents… those of us from the old families… they thought it would lead us down a dangerous path. Corrupt us." Hermione sniggers at that, and he supposes it is funny, looking back. As if knowing what an escalator is was going to destroy the fabric of wizarding society.

"But," he goes on, "I started looking at some of the guides. I… learned a lot actually, about muggles. At first I didn't understand much of it, but Tracy's brother… he led our first campaign. The only one we played that year. Umbridge would have skinned us alive, but we had you lot distracting her with your secret club."

"You've been playing this all that time?"

"No," he shakes his head, "we didn't play last year. Couldn't. Not with the Carrows around. Sixth year…" He looks away, not able to hold her gaze. "I was busy sixth year. No one was in the mood for games."

Draco's head snaps back in her direction, suddenly realizing something important. "Wait, you came in here ready to Avada me. What the fuck did you _think_ we were doing?"

She has the decency to blush and look away, and suddenly Draco isn't sure he wants to know.

"I was just… you were very suspicious, you know," she accuses, and Draco recognizes the defensiveness masking her discomfort at whatever mistake she made.

Somehow, that doesn't make him feel much better. If anything, this might be worse than he thought.

"Hermione?"

She takes a deep breath and admits stiffly, "I thought maybe you were going to do something… you know…" She waves her hand around as if he's supposed to fill in the blank.

"What… evil? Fuck, Granger, what did you think I was going to do?"

She bristles and blurts out sarcastically, "Oh, I don't know, let Death Eaters in to the school?"

His face must collapse. He's sure of it, because the look on Hermione's immediately twists into profound regret.

"I'm so sorry-"

"It's fine," he interrupts stiffly. "Not as though it's not factual."

"It's not," she argues. "I just… get a little defensive when I feel guilty."

He nods but doesn't look at her, waiting for this awkward moment to be over so he can run back to his dorm and lick his wounds. It seems his chances of any sort of relationship, even polite acquaintance, with Granger were pretty thin on the ground.

"Draco?"

With a sigh, he looks back to find her holding the guide she was browsing back toward him.

He takes it and starts to slide it back in the bag when her hand closes the flap. "Tell me… about the game? I'd really like to know more about it."

She's looking at him through her lashes, small hand still stretched across the table to hold his bag hostage. He supposes there's nothing for it.

"We all have a character," he begins slowly, "A muggle with different jobs and skill sets, and we have these… quests… tasks to complete. We earn money and make ourselves stronger over time. We use a die with twenty sides to determine our success at various stages…it's… I don't know, it's just for fun…" Draco is growing increasingly wary as he speaks, watching Hermione trying to stifle a grin. He knew she wouldn't understand-

"Are you the DM?"

"The…?"

"The Dungeon Master. Or, I suppose you wouldn't call it that would you? Though there is some irony what with you living in the dungeons…"

"What in Salazar's name are you talking about?"

Hermione giggles at him. Fucking _giggles_. Then she corrects herself and says, "Maybe Game Master is more appropriate. Do you run the campaigns?"

Understanding falls around him finally, and he nods. "The Mortgage Master, you mean? Yes. It's my game, so I plan the sessions."

"Would you read me a little? Some basics from the Master guide?" She gestures to the tome in his hands, looking at him expectantly and without a hint of mockery. He only hesitates a moment more before settling in. Draco opens the book again and turns to the first page where the game's introduction is found. Clearing his throat and adopting a clear tone of voice, he reads from the opening statement.

"In a world run by greed and built by deadly machines, muggles find their way through the trials of their daily lives with only their wits to guide them. Join the adventure and discover the muggle world like you've never known it. Welcome to Muggles and Mortgages."

 **A/N I'm just... you guys ::happy sniff:: You've made this little piece so much fun to post! We are almost at the end, but I hope it's been fun. 'Thank yous' all around for the faves, follows, and reviews!**


	5. Temptation

**Continued love for LightofEvolution: Beta Master.**

 **And also, for ALL of you... I'm so grateful to each and every one of you. How many people get to have a hobby that leads to so much interaction and good will?**

* * *

"Are you sure this is alright?"

Hermione is fidgeting, nervous for what is to come. She looks over at Draco with apprehension, but he throws her a reassuring smile. A very handsome smile, she admits to herself, no longer feeling the need to pretend otherwise.

You know, now that she doesn't think he's a mass murderer.

"It's completely fine, Granger. I, for one, am very excited for what you bring to the table."

She snorts. "Like knowing what a tampon is?"

He blushes and looks away, but the smile doesn't really slip from his face.

The door opens, and the first to arrive is Blaise Zabini. He stops cold just inside the room, eyes darting between Hermione and Draco.

"Erm. Draco? Are we… in trouble here?"

Hermione doesn't quite manage not to laugh softly before shaking her head no, but Draco is the one that speaks. He scoffs and says, "Of course not. Granger here is going to be the fifth member of our party."

"I… she is?" And then, to Hermione, "You want to play?"

He's looking at her dubiously. Hermione hasn't had a lot of interactions with this particular Slytherin, but she's pretty sure he's never looked anything but over-confident and self-assured. Trying to sound friendly, she answers him, "I do. If that's alright with the group."

Zabini slides into the table next to Draco, as far from Hermione as possible. There is no time for more conversation before the door opens again, revealing Pansy Parkinson slinking into the room.

Her reaction to Hermione's presence is an abrupt stop, but then an odd cock to her head. "Is Granger joining us?"

Draco addresses her with confidence. "She is. I assume that's not a problem."

The table of three seem to hold their breath collectively, but it is unnecessary when Pansy just stalks over and takes the chair next to Granger. "Good. We finally have someone to tell us what all these muggle gadgets are without Draco having to creep around after her."

No one says anything. Hermione is struck speechless and assumes the two boys are the same.

After pulling her custom made die with twenty gleaming sides out of a special leather case, Pansy sweeps her eyes around the table and asks, "What? You think I didn't know where you were getting your information?" She finishes with a mumble, "As if you'd know what taxidermy is. Please."

Hermione pulls her Gryffindor boldness out of the wreckage of being stunned. "So… you don't mind if I play?"

Pansy stops fidgeting with her parchments and raises one perfect eyebrow at Hermione. "What's an escalator?"

"I… It's a moving staircase muggles use to move from floor to floor of a building."

"How many 'floor pedals' are used to 'drive' a car?"

"Two for automatic transmission. Three for manual."

"What is Armani?"

"Umm… a fashion design house."

"Why should a man not refer to a group of men as 'ladies' in jest?"

"It implies an inferiority of women to use the term in a derogatory way, even if meant as humor."

Looking back at Draco, Pansy answers Hermione's question with a very pointed look, "No, Granger. I don't mind at all."

"Sorry I'm late. Potter stopped me, ridiculous as that sounds, asking if I'd seen-"

Theo stops mid-sentence, barely past the threshold of the door, then picks the thought back up with a raised brow. "Granger?"

"Harry's looking for me?"

"I believe his exact words were 'she won't tell me what she's doing, but I know it has something to do with Malfoy'. I guess he thought I might have some idea. Of course I told him that I don't… No fucking idea. What is she doing here?"

The last is directed obviously toward Draco, who levels him with a serious look that begs no challenge and grits out. "She's playing with us."

Theo snorts, but flops down into the last remaining chair, between Blaise and Pansy. "Yeah? Since when?"

"Since today," Hermione answers, emboldened by Parkinson's quick acceptance and annoyed by Nott's attitude. She hadn't expected him to be the problem.

It's a tense moment, when Draco finally mutters, "Nott", like a warning.

The man smirks then and props his knee against the table, nearly reclining in a non-reclining chair. "Just having a laugh, Granger. Draco told me you'd be here."

And just like that, the tension breaks and the room feels lighter. Hermione answers Nott's expression with a bit of a wry smile and then starts pulling items out of her bag. Her twenty-side isn't quite as beautiful as Parkinson's. The Slytherin witch looks like she had hers commissioned from Goblin metalsmiths. Hermione, though, has had hers since she was a girl, and it always makes her think of her father when she holds it.

She can't wait to tell Frank Granger she's taken up an RPG when she goes home for the holidays.

She already has parchment and a quill in front of her, but now reaches into her beaded bag, shuffling around the unpacked items, until her hand closes on the last piece she needs to play.

"What's that?"

Hermione looks at Blaise and grins, opening her hand to reveal a tiny figure of a scantily clad female. "It's a mini. A miniature representation of my character." She glances around at the table and notices no more figures. "You don't have minis?"

Blaise shoots a death glare at their leader. "Why don't we have those?" he demands, sounding suddenly much younger than his years.

"I don't…"

Draco looks lost so Hermione jumps in and points to the items in front of Blaise. "You have a reference sketch though."

Preening that she noticed, Blaise holds up the parchment he's been steadily working on for weeks. "I'm still shading around her eyes, see? And watch…" He pulls out his wand and flicks it at the graphite drawing. The pretty woman suddenly winks at Hermione and tosses her hair behind her, then rolls her shoulder and makes the pursed lip action of blowing a kiss.

"That's an impressive bit of spell work." Blaise looks smug and proud, but then Hermione flicks her wand at her own mini. The tiny little muggle woman finds the nearest tall item, the base of Hermione's quill standing on her quill stand, and shimmies against it in the most inappropriate manner. Her tiny legs grip the slender stalk, and she bends backwards, releasing her hold with one hand and looking at Blaise upside down from her position, licking her lips.

The little figure finally drops back down and resumes her original pose, going still.

"Holy mother of Merlin… what the fuck was that?!"

Hermione shrugs. "The whole idea of an RPG is to lose yourself in a fantasy. Something unlike your real life. I've chosen exotic dancer as my character profession. She's charmed to act out a few basic dance moves."

Blaise looks like he could come around the table and kiss her. Nott looks intrigued and a little smug, like he knew this would all work out alright in the end. She wonders about the conversation between him and Draco.

And Draco… well he is giving her a very appraising look that Hermione isn't sure she knows how to decipher.

Pansy, on the other hand, groans. "Alright, alright! Are we ever going to play? Does she even have her character rolled or do we have to wait for _that_?"

Picking up a parchment, Hermione lays the list of her character stats in front of Draco.

Name: Sonnet Williams

Occupation: Exotic Dancer

Level: 1

Charisma: 2 (+2 to roll for current occupational attire)

Health: 1 (+1 to roll for occupational fitness)

Dexterity: 1 (-2 to roll for impractical foot wear during mundane tasks)

Tech: 0

Subterfuge: 0

Education Level: Technical College (+1 to check roll)

Current wealth: $2,000

Draco grins, looking at the persona she's created, and clears his throat. "She's ready. Shall we begin?"

 _Sonnet meets the rest of the party while volunteering at the elementary school where they worked days before._

"You know, muggles don't just let unaccredited people come in and work for a day with children right?"

Nott stiffens and takes a calming breath through his nose, mumbling, "Oh Merlin, she's going to be just like Draco."

Oblivious to the comment, Draco perks up. "I thought as much. Surely they need some sort of mastership…"

"An education certificate, yes. It takes a few years to earn."

"I think we are all aware this game does not have all the answers when it comes to muggle culture. Tampon anyone? Can we please just continue?" Parkinson, Hermione is learning, seems to keep the group moving forward. Though Draco is the game leader, it's clear who wears the proverbial pants in real life amongst the snakes.

Ironically, that's a proverb Pansy would likely quite object to, if she were familiar.

 _Drake continues setting the scene…_

 _Hoping to supplement her income as a dancer, she is interested in joining her new friends on their continued quests to make money and improve social standing._

 _Violet is in favour of another shopping trip, claiming Sonnet could use new clothing. Her current attire is saddling her with a -2 to dexterity for her shoes._

" _But they give me +2 to charisma. I think it's worth the exchange."_

" _You could offset that with an Armani dress."_

 _Sonnet disagrees, referencing her occupational requirements. "My Charisma is tied to a particular gear set. The Widow is the only class with a bonus for high fashion."_

 _Violet preens and glares at Blair. "See? Widow is not the weakest occupation."_

 _Blair rolls her seductive sapphire eyes, ample chest heaving as she takes in a calming breath-_

"Salazar, Zabini, could you _not_ …"

 _-and concedes that even the weakest class has some advantages._

" _Before we leave the school," Drake informs them, "we have to attend a meeting with the faculty to receive our payment from our last session."_

" _Do you think we could negotiate to get me a cut?" Sonnet asks. "With Subterfuge or something?"_

Draco scans through his mission materials, looking for a way to offer a roll to negotiate. His Slytherin friends mostly follow his lead during gameplay, not knowing how much they could creatively immerse into the characters. It will either be a lot of fun or much more stressful to play with someone obviously familiar with these sorts of games.

 _Finding an opening, Drake suggests, "The principal is weak to Charisma. You could use your action this round to distract him with your physical charms."_

" _Wait, wait… is she going to fuck the principal? Can I roll for that?"_

" _Blair seems awfully eager," Sonnet comments. "And no, I have a dance action that increases my roll. I don't need to fellate the man, you hussy."_

The room at large is silent as a grave, hearing Hermione Granger use the word fellate. Nott finally grins and gives Draco a wink. "Oh, she's fun. I knew bringing her in was a good idea."

With a secret smile and a bite to her lower lip, Hermione settles in to the rest of the session, profoundly surprised by how comfortable she is in this den of snakes and looking forward to the weeks to come.

"So, how was it," Draco asks her later.

The pair of them are alone once again in the room, just like how this all started. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy had all left first, going so far as to suggest to Draco that he let her leave last.

"It's not like she would even get into any trouble," Blaise had pointed out. "No reason to sacrifice yourself anymore, Malfoy. Let the war hero protect you."

Draco had given his friend a right and proper glare, even as Hermione had snickered. Plus, it made a sort of sense. She has been given pretty much carte blanche from McGonagall since term started. If someone catches her out, she can just give them some flimsy excuse about preparing for her Ministry position or sending an owl to Ron. Name dropping the powers that be or other members of the Golden Trio never hurts her chance of a clean getaway.

So, she had volunteered. "It's fine," she'd interrupted the staring match between the two friends. "I'll go last. It's really not fair it was always you anyway," she'd mentioned then to Draco. "I don't mind taking a turn."

Now, she's suddenly quite aware of the fact that they are alone once again. This time, her wand isn't at this throat, of course, and any mortification that she literally sat on his crotch a few days ago can rise to the surface.

He's watching her with a gaze she would almost describe as cool, except it's not that indifferent.

She focuses back on his question, and grins. "It was excellent. I've not played a game like this in years. You're a wonderful GM."

He looks startled, and she continues. "I can tell you put in a lot of work to the planning. You have a deep grasp on the game mechanics and know about each character class, not just your own." She pauses, noting that he seems a little bit uncomfortable under her praise. Ending with gratitude, she finishes by saying, "Thank you for inviting me, Draco."

He smiles then, slipping back into his usual confident stance. "I'm glad you decided to join. I'm also glad to have this conversation without your wand in my neck."

He chuckles and she joins him, blurting out thoughtlessly, "or straddling you."

Draco cocks an eyebrow at her. "No, just the wand bit. I certainly had no issue with anything else."

There is no reason to even pretend his eyes didn't just sweep down her figure. Her own gaze drifts a bit to his mouth then back up, feeling a tension, taut as a bow string, suddenly stretch the room.

"Will you come back?" He has stepped closer, no longer fiddling with his game parchments or reference guides.

"I… I'd like that. When?"

"Tuesday."

Tuesday. Hermione nods, a little disappointed. It's only Thursday night. Nearly a week before they can do this again.

"You don't play on the weekends?"

She watches him lick his lips, procrastinating his response. Indecision seeming to flicker in his eyes. "Usually, we do. I…" He clears his throat and starts again. "I asked the group if we could skip this one. I was hoping…well, you see, it's a Hogsmeade weekend."

Ah, right. Of course. All the hesitation in his voice…She's guessing he has a date, and Hermione has been putting off all these 'come hither' vibes, she's sure. How absolutely mortifying.

With a strong clearing of her own throat, she shakes herself back into motion. "Right. Well… Tuesday is perfect. I'll just… see you in class?"

She's halfway to the door when he stops her with a rare use of her name. "Hermione?"

Turning slowly to face him and plastering a polite smile on her lips, she waits for whatever he needs to say. She watches him run his hand through his hair, disheveling his usually coifed platinum strands, and curses him for looking adorable while he lets her down gently.

"I thought… I mean I don't have any plans necessarily, but maybe if you were planning on going… and, that is, since _I'm_ planning on going. What if we were both, you know, _mutually_ going? To Hogsmeade? At roughly the same time to the same places?"

"You… wait. Are you asking me to go with you?"

"Well, only if… if you don't have other arrangements," he is back-pedalling. Quite stiffly and more awkward than she thought him capable of being.

Her brain catching up, she blurts out, "I'd love to. I mean, I don't have any other plans so…if _you_ want to."

Draco's smile returns, broad and contagious, prompting Hermione to answer with her own.

It's been a lovely few days, since she confronted Draco about his late night activities in the Room. She met him here two days before to pick up a character parchment and discuss meeting times, and he had been the friendliest she'd ever known him. All their back and forth the past few short weeks, all the times she had wondered what his interest in her had been, she had waffled continuously over the possibility he might have been making some kind of play for her.

Now, on the cusp of what sounds very much like a first date, Hermione allows herself to indulge in a brief visualization of their day together. Draco Malfoy, now that he isn't snarking cruel comments at her and her friends, has been nothing but a gentleman. Polite, taking an interest in what she has to say, engaging her in conversation. She imagines a date with Draco will be nothing like grabbing take away with Ron and hoping his mother doesn't barge into his childhood bedroom and catch them… _in flagrante delicto_.

Her smile, however, fades almost as quickly as it came. Hermione puts her thoughts together, trying to broach the subject delicately and hoping she doesn't end up with her heart bruised in the end. "Are you sure though? This… here… Playing in the Room is one thing but, if we go to Hogsmeade together… everyone will see."

Draco's own smile falters as well and she watches him straighten. "Is that a problem? I understand, if it is. I'm sure you don't need my reputation sullying your name."

Her bark of laughter shatters the fragile atmosphere of the room, and she covers her hand with her mouth, embarrassed by the volume of her own outburst. She is just so shocked to hear her own self-conscious concerns mirrored back at her. "Sorry… that's just… I mean, that's ridiculous. You're Draco Malfoy. Scion of two ancient houses and possibly the wealthiest heir in Britain, wizarding or muggle."

"You forgot Death Eater," he murmurs.

"Oh don't pout. You're no such thing." If he's going to say ridiculous things, she's going to chastise him like a child. "You're not a Death Eater."

"I was. You know I'm lucky to be free, don't you? I wouldn't be, if it wasn't for the anonymous testimony on my behalf. That's how close I was. One bleeding heart away from Azkaban."

"Well then, you can thank me by buying me a butterbeer."

"Wait…It was _you_?"

He looks at her with wide eyes and she snorts. "Of course it was. Who did you imagine? Harry?"

His silence says it all and she giggles again, suddenly feeling a bit shy about the whole thing. Realizing this is actually going to happen.

"So… do you still want to? Go together?"

He nods and Hermione takes a breath, straightening her spine to bare her own vulnerability. "Even if I'm a muggleborn?"

Draco, suddenly seeming much more self-assured, much more _himself_ , sweeps his arm behind him at the table they just vacated. "I'm not sure if it's escaped your attention, but I organized a game with my closest friends where we pretend to be muggles. I think it rather goes without saying that my opinions on the world outside my social circles have broadened."

She nods. That's fair enough. "And even if I have unruly hair and read too much and color code my study schedule?"

"I like your hair," he reveals with a grin. She starts to say more, but he holds up his hand to silence her. "Look, you do realize I could have asked Dean Thomas about taxidermy right? Or Tracey Davis… who's in my _house_ … or even Potter, but I asked _you_."

"You did," she concedes, following his point, but not above digging around for a compliment. "Because I'm so thorough in my explanations?"

Sauntering closer once again, he offers a wry smile, looking down at her. She freezes when he lifts his right hand to trace the line of her cheek, then sweeps a curl behind her ear.

"That is true," he agrees. "You're very thorough. You're also well-read, which I appreciate. You're ambitious; a trait I'd like to think I share. We, apparently, have a similar interest in fantasy entertainment…. And you look far superior to the lot of them in Armani trousers."

She just stares at him, probably making him quite uncomfortable, but she just doesn't know what to say to that. He rescues her by clarifying. "I'd very much like to buy you that drink, Hermione."

"I'll roll you for it."

A beat, and then, "What?"

Grinning, Hermione digs into her bag and finds her die once more. Walking to the empty table, she tosses it down. "Fourteen. If you can beat that, you can buy me a drink." She swipes it back up in her fist and holds it out in front of her.

Draco looks at the die she is now offering in her palm and frowns. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'm buying," she says haughtily, daring him to disagree.

He studies her, then plucks the die from her hand and, without breaking eye contact, tosses it on the table.

Hermione can't seem to draw her gaze from his either and asks softly, "Who won?"

He leans forward, hands cupping her cheeks, and she knows he hasn't looked at his roll even as he says, "I did," and presses his lips to hers.

They are never really sure who won the roll since the kiss turns heated. The die rolls off the table when Draco sets Hermione atop it to step between her legs. It doesn't seem to matter, anyway, when, that Saturday, Draco buys the pair a drink, and Hermione sneaks the server the tip. They argue about who will pick up another round, locking eyes as they realize they just promised each other a next time; promised each other _more_.

"We never really did know who won that roll," Hermione argues, still trying to pick up the tab on their fifth date.

"I already told you, I did," he says, then sweeps her close with his arm around her waist. "Mortgage Master Privilege," Draco grins against her lips. "I have a plus fourteen to temptation."

Never one to admit defeat, Hermione doesn't argue, but thinks maybe this is an instance in which you can lose and somehow still win. Settling in to Draco's side, she will let him believe what he wants for now. Hermione knows that no matter what he says, she definitely came out on top.

Level up, indeed.

* * *

 **Ah, the bittersweet flavor of the end of a story. I hope it was a fun romp and it wasn't too nerdy lol. As always, and even though I repeat myself, I am serious as a heart attack when I say I am so thankful to you for your amazing comments, favorites, follows, and just generally for being here, letting me take up some of your time to entertain you. If you would be so kind as to drop me one last review it would thrill me endlessly.**

 **One more big thanks also for anyone who nominated me in the Granger Enchanted awards and for anyone that thought to spare me a vote. I'm honored to be mentioned amongst all the amazing Dramione writers out there.**

 **I'm going down with this ship, so hopefully I'll see you back when I am ready to post my next piece. Until then: heart you all!**


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